


Ultimate control

by Skye_Light



Series: Dramione One-shots [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angry Hermione Granger, Because we all know they need it, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Good Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light Dom/sub, Mental Health Issues, Not Canon Compliant, Pining Draco Malfoy, Therapy, You'll see what I mean, anger issues, because i am judge jury and executioner, but the last bit is implied, but unconventional dom/sub, less people have died
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:41:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29863770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skye_Light/pseuds/Skye_Light
Summary: After the war, Hermione struggles more than she thought she would and is now forced to go to therapy. Unfortunately, she's not having the breakthrough she was counting on. But help is just around the corner, hidden behind the pointy face of the most unlikely person - Draco Malfoy.RATING GIVEN BECAUSE OF TRIGGER WARNINGS! READ THE NOTES FIRST!
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Dramione One-shots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046617
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	Ultimate control

**Author's Note:**

> TW: intrusive thoughts, mentions of torture, self-deprecating thoughts, mentions of depression.  
> Be mindful of your triggers and read with caution. As always, your health comes first!  
> Happy reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated.

“It was ridiculous!” Finished the man, extending his arms sideways. He must have been talking for some good 15 minutes.

“This whole thing is ridiculous.” Whispered Hermione under her breath. She hoped no one would hear her, but a scoff came from the chair on her left and when she turned, she saw Draco Malfoy was hiding his face behind his hand.

“That’s my line, Granger.” He whispered and despite everything, Hermione smiled.

She had considered it just an add on to her biggest failure when the healers at St. Mungo’s had referred her to therapy. One breakdown and suddenly everyone is worried about her health as if she hadn’t struggled beforehand. Rationally, she knew there was nothing shameful about therapy – she lived through horrors even many of those who fought couldn’t imagine. Furthermore, each person handles trauma differently – what is traumatic for some does not affect others. She knew that and still, she was angry. Angry at herself for failing, angry at her past self-for not making sure she would not fail. Angry at her friends for not sending her to therapy earlier, and at the healers for actually sending her to therapy. Rationally, that anger was part of why she knew she needed therapy. Hermione was seeing her personal therapist for about a month, three times a week, but her therapist had also suggested this very group therapy she was currently sat at, listening to people complain about the minor inconveniences the war she fought had caused them.

“ _You’ve been doing brilliantly, Hermione, but I think it’d be beneficial if you shared some of your experiences with others.” Said The Doctor. She was a kind woman, but she always had this look in her eyes Hermione hated. Something akin to pity. Hermione refused to call her by her name, even in her own mind. But she had this ugly and absurdly long scarf, like the one from the TV show_ Doctor Who, _which her father adored. So Hermione started referring to her as The Doctor. “There is this group therapy, you’d be glamoured, of course, but it might be good to see that others are struggling too, even in their own smaller ways.”_

_“I know others are struggling.” Protested Hermione._

_“There is a difference between knowing that people in the abstract are suffering and hearing their stories out of their own mouths, infused with their own emotions. I think it’ll help you better understand how trauma manifests itself in different minds.” Hermione rolled her eyes._

_Walking in the large room for the first time had been a traumatic experience on its own. She never knew what would trigger her, and it turns out, large rooms with echo did just that. She felt her chest tighten and her hand flew up to her throat, certain there was a knife there, making a cut. The room was bright, but Hermione’s vision was darkening around the edges. She forced her lungs to expand and contract rhythmically but to little avail. She flew out of the room, colliding with someone._

_“Woah, there. I thought the running in fear came after we introduced ourselves.”_

_“Malfoy?” she looked at the boy she collided with, well hardly a boy at 18 and already lived through so much. He was glamoured, but very lightly. His hair and eyes were the same, but his cheeks were fuller, and his nose was sticking up at the end, rather than its long and straight shape. He was holding her steady by her shoulders, ad she realised she was shaking._

_“Should I be concerned that you’re running at breakneck speed out of the room?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at her. She had almost forgotten she was glamoured herself. Though she was now with wavy black hair and two different coloured eyes. She had glamoured her chin to be pointier than usual, to further distract from her appearance. But his eyes glimmered and a smirk appeared on his face as he released her. “Maybe I should be, Granger.”_

_“What are you doing here?” Of course, he recognised her. They went to school together for six years. If he could recognise Harry in the state he was in back_ then _, he could recognise her through her slight glamours._

_“I’m guessing the same as you.” He gestured to the room, “Group therapy.” He said the words with the same tone of voice he used to throw slurs at her, only this time she agreed with him._

_“I’m not going in.”_

_“Golden girl is scared of a group of bellow average wizards?”_

_“You don’t know anything about me or the people in this room.” She said sternly, gearing herself for battle, maybe some light insults. But none came, he just nodded towards the open doors._

_“Look inside, none of these people really knew what was going on. They were neither prosecuted by the Muggle-born registration act nor were they hunted by Death Eaters. And none of them had to play host to Voldemort, Greyback, and their relatives from Azkaban.” Hermione looked inside, and she begrudgingly had to agree, neither of those people looked like they’d gone through war. But looks could be deceiving._

_“You know nothing about them. Maybe their stories could rival ours.” She said and wondered if she was really defending them or just some twisted part of her actually enjoyed the verbal sparring. Lately, everyone tended to agree with her, more to placate her than anything else. She didn’t know if she was flattered or annoyed._

_“Only one way to find out.” He said and started walking inside, but Hermione couldn’t follow him. “Come on, little lion, where are your claws?” he said mockingly, and Hermione felt rage rise in her. She strode past him, hissing ‘slimy snake’ at him, before taking a seat in the circle. It was after she saw the satisfied smirk on his face that she remembered she had overcome her anxiety attack through sheer anger and will to prove him wrong._

“Far be it from me to gloat,” began Malfoy, as they were getting tea on an impromptu break, caused by the end of what were additional 10 minutes of the man’s story.

“Since when?” muttered Hermione, stirring sugar into her tea.

“As I was saying,” he continued, making a sour face after tasting the filter coffee, “we’re here to see that even regular people were affected. But none of them really saw much of the war.”

“They’re still traumatised.” Countered Hermione, and barely stopped herself from cringing. She was having the same conversation she had had with The Doctor, only now she was in her shoes.

“And how is knowing that going to help us? Everyone’s fucking traumatised by something. My father used to beat me with his cane when I disobeyed, and that was my biggest trauma until when I was 15, I came home to find a 12ft man-eating snake in my living room, _avec_ her owner.” Did the posh prick actually use French in a casual conversation? He dumped the coffee and poured himself tea. “Point is, when I wake up in the middle of the night, knowing Owen here had a brick thrown in his living room window, is not going to do fuck-all to help me.” He tasted the tea and made a sour face, but resigned himself to drinking it.

“The world doesn’t revolve around you.” She said reaching for the creamer, hoping it’ll make whatever this concoction was drinkable.

“Here’s where you’re wrong,” he said leaning in closer. “I am pretty much the centre of my world. Much like you are the centre of yours.” His breath ruffled through her hair and a not entirely unpleasant shiver ran down her spine. _Damn him._

Hermione didn’t want to be angry at those people sharing their stories – she knew that was irrational and knowing that helped dissipate the feelings a little. Until her turn came, and the cold tendrils of fear gripped her stomach.

“My name is Penelope,” it had seemed like the easiest option, going with the name she used during the war, but now that she said the name aloud, she regrated it. It tasted rancid in her mouth. “I’m a muggle-born. I was caught by snatchers and tortured.” Gasps came from everyone, save for the therapist, an old man, with a balding head, and Malfoy, who looked at her with an unreadable expression. She looked around seeing the pity in everyone’s eyes and she didn’t need legilimency to know what they’re thinking, it was what everyone thought when they saw her. _So young, but so damaged._ She was running out of the room and the building before she even knew it.

“Penelope!” she heard a voice behind her but didn’t stop, not until she was out on the sidewalk and past the building. “Will you slow down?” She felt a hand grab at her and pull her into an alley. She blindly started hitting, until her wrists were pinned above her head and she couldn’t physically struggle. “Damn it, Granger!” hissed Malfoy, an angry red scratch across his cheek.

“Let me go, Malfoy!”

“I will if I can have a guarantee that you won’t gauge my eyes out.” He said and Hermione noticed the scratch had crossed an old scar running down his chin.

“No promises there.” she almost spat. She was angry again. She was in a constant whiplash of emotion and didn’t know how much more she could handle before unravelling again. She struggled again to kick him, but he pulled her hands up, stretching her on her tiptoes.

“Stay still!” he commanded, inches from her face and she obeyed. Her logical side was screaming that she had no reason to listen to him and, in fact, she should struggle harder. But his hands were warm and positioned so hers didn’t scrape against the damp and dirty brick even as she tugged at them. His body was close enough to feel the heat radiating from him, but not close enough to brush against her, even accidentally. He was in complete control of the situation and she had none. And even if she thought it should make her anxious, like all lack of control did, she locked eyes with him and relaxed. “Good.” He said calmly. “I’ll let you go, gently, let me know if you feel dizzy. You had an episode you might need some time to come fully to it.”

“You seem to know a lot.” She said as he gently lowered her arms down and took a step back.

“I’ve been here. What does your therapist have you do? Colouring books and organising libraries?” He asked and Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. He couldn’t know about her work at the bookstore, could he?

“Relax, Granger.” He chuckled, leaning on the opposite wall, the image of nonchalant elegance, and it angered Hermione that this was the description that came to mind. “I have about 5 colouring books filled out and the libraries were a guess. A homage to your reputation as a swot.”

“What’s it to you?” she asked, more bite in her voice than she meant.

“Tell your therapist it isn’t working.” He said curtly, before walking away.

“What do you mean ‘it isn’t working’?”

“I mean, it isn’t bloody working. I attacked someone yesterday, after the group therapy. I knew him, I went to school with him, but I was so fucking angry and scared, I didn’t even stop to think that he might not be coming after me to hurt me, but to help.” The Doctor scribbled something down and nodded once, twice, three times.

“Alright, maybe we should consider something different. You crave the control that was taken from you during the war and especially when you were attacked,” Hermione nodded. They’d been through this. It’s why she was filling her days with activities that allowed her to control her environment almost entirely. “Have you ever willingly entered a situation where you entirely give up control?”

“Like in a sexual relationship?”

“Not necessarily, but something like that.” Hermione shook her head. It sounded panic-inducing just hearing about it. “Well, it might be something you can look into. Now, we have talked about the fact that I would strongly discourage you to enter into relationships at this stage of your healing, and it still stands. I’d like you to do some research on your own and think of a list of people who you trust enough to be in control of you for the duration of a task.”

“I–”

“I don’t mean it in any romantic or even sexual way. I want you to call a friend and ask them to meet, letting them entirely control the outing. Or have them talk you through brewing an unfamiliar potion, without contradicting them or cross-referencing the ingredients.”

“And this will help how?”

“How do you think it might help?”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake…” Hermione groaned, leaning back in the chair.

“Hermione, I’m confused.” Said Ron.

“What else is new?” asked Ginny, kicking her brother under the table. “Hermione wants us to take responsibility for a few hours. We can go to the movies – I’ve always wanted to go.”

“I’m afraid that will be a little stressful for all of us. If I can’t take charge and it is an entirely new situation for you it’ll be quite the debacle. For one, you’ve never even handled muggle money without supervision.” Said Hermione, already feeling stressed.

“Well, I don’t think quidditch is your cup of tea, so maybe… We can just do things here?” Suggested Ron. Not entirely unplausible, especially as it was their first attempt. Hermione nodded.

They ended up playing a few rounds of exploding snap, before cooking dinner and then Hermione listened to Ron and Ginny argue about Quidditch. And while Hermione enjoyed herself a lingering doubt set roots that this is not really what The Doctor had in mind. This wasn’t very different from how she’d spend all her days she visited the Burrow. So she asked Harry, who had far fewer problems with coming up with something – he didn’t even suggest anything, just handed her a jacket, and opened the door. They ended up walking through St James’ Park, before going to lunch, and then the movies. Harry picked everything Hermione ate, what they watched, and even how to get back to Hermione’s flat.

“And how did you feel?”

“Fine,” shrugged Hermione, “I trust Harry completely, also I knew exactly when the day would end.”

“So you didn’t completely let go. It sounds to me like you clung on to a piece of that control quite hard.” Said The Doctor after scribbling something.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do. How can I submerge myself in a situation where I will have no control whatsoever? I can always exact it in an unhealthy manner.”

“Such as?”

“I can start holding my breath for twice as long than I should. Or make sure I don’t step on cracks in the pavement. I can touch every third lamppost and hop in place next to every telephone booth. All those things would be me exercising control if I’m desperate enough.”

“Have you ever done those things when you’ve felt out of control?” Hermione was about to deny, but she had. She had held her breath or taken quick shallow breaths when she felt like she was losing her grip, just to feel in control of something. “You’re on the right path, Hermione, but it might take some time to get there. Keep trying.”

The next day Hermione stood in front of the group therapy building watching the entrance like it was the greatest puzzle she’d ever encountered. She had to go in, The Doctor had already alluded to the fact that she had missed the last two sessions and she bailed halfway through the first. She commanded her feet to move, but nothing happened.

“I never thought someone could spend so much time staring at a piece of brutalist architecture, but here you are.” She looked to her left to see Malfoy there. Same glamour as before.

“How do you know how long I’ve been standing here?” He turned around to point across the street.

“Stopped for a coffee on the way. The one inside is atrocious. It should be outlawed.” He handed her a paper cup, identical to his. “It’s tea. I saw you struggle to drink that cup and thought you might need the caffeine.”

“Why are you being nice to me?” the words were out before she could think twice.

“Because I suck at apologies.” He shrugged. “I’ve been told kind gestures can sometimes do the trick.”

“They can only go so far.” She muttered but lifted the lid off the tea. Black, just like she used to drink it at Hogwarts.

“And maybe at the end of the line, I’ll actually say the words. You’ll just have to stick around to see.” He winked and headed inside.

“Malfoy,” she called unsure of whether she should go along with this spur of the moment decision. He turned around but didn’t say anything. “I need a favour.” He remained still, but one brow lifted in question. “I’ll count it towards the apology.”

“Alright then, what is it?”

“I need you to tell me to go inside and stay throughout the whole thing.”

“You need me to tell you to… Didn’t your therapist already do that?” Shit, she was going to regret this.

“I need you to command me to do it.” He took a few steps towards her, his face a mask of utter confusion. “Three meetings ago, in that alleyway, you…” she stammered feeling blood rush to her face in embarrassment. “You told me to stay still and I did. I just need some outside force to make me go inside or I won’t do it.” He stared at her, blinking slowly for a few moments.

“You,” he pointed to her, “want me,” he pointed to himself, “to _dominate_ you?”

“You don’t have to make it sound so crass.”

“That’s what it is, Granger. You want me to exert my influence on you. That’s the very definition of the word, I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“But I’m asking you to do it, so it’s not really only you exerting your influence.”

“Do you want to submit to me?” he asked taking another step forward, towering over her. Has he always been this tall? “Do you?”

“I…” of course she didn’t – this was _Draco fucking Malfoy_. Her childhood bully, witness to her torture. He let Death Eaters in Hogwarts and… and it had felt so freeing to listen to him in that alley. Not to argue, fight, or reason, but to trust that even when she was wandless, her arms pinned to the wall, he wouldn’t do anything she was truly against. He had not even touched her, aside from her wrists.

“Answer me.” His voice was firm and deep and held a command she didn’t even register in time.

“I think so.” She answered quickly. She clapped a hand over her mouth and fought the urge to slap the stupid smirk off his face.

“Alright then,” he gestured towards the building and smiled at her. A real smile, not a pretentious smirk.

“Jon,” Hermione turned to see the therapist make his way to them. “It’s so good to see you, my boy,” that’s right, he reminded Hermione of Slughorn. She had wondered about that. “And Penelope, I’m so glad you decided to come back.” Hermione gave him a tight smile. “Are you coming in already?”

“Yes, we are.” Said Malfoy with a confident smile and the therapist nodded, before entering the building.

“Jon?” asked Hermione.

“Without the H. Is that judgement I hear?”

“Spelling John without the H is worthy of judgement.” She walked over to him and he placed a hand on her lower back, just barely hovering there so if she slowed down, he’d push her forward.

“My name is Draco, I had to stick to the pretentious bit at least.” He said as they reached the room. Hermione felt panic spread from the centre of her chest and she stopped dead in her tracks.

“I can’t. The room. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” He said and pressed firmly into her back. “Come on, walk in with me, I’ll buy you another tea after.” She locked eyes with him and saw the same thing she was that evening in the alley. His grey eyes were wide and honest up close, but there was a certain determination in his voice and the pressure on her back that was at dissonance with his eyes. “Walk.” She took a step forward, then another and like that propelled by his hand on her lower back she found a seat, he sat on her left. Even towards the end of the meeting, Hermione thought she could feel the warmth of Malfoy’s hand on her lower back.

“Where do you prefer to go to?” He asked her when the meeting was over.

“What?” She had drifted off and hadn’t heard the meeting dissolve.

“I promised you tea if you did this.” He looked at his left wrist as if there was a watch on it. “Meeting’s over. Time for tea.”

“I didn’t think you were serious.” Confessed Hermione. It had fled her mind almost immediately.

“I’m always serious about aftercare.” He said leaning into her and winked.

“About what?” He just shook his head and gestured towards the door.

“Come on. I suppose you don’t need me to tell you to leave the room you so desperately wanted to avoid.” She walked in front of him and down the street, his long strides easily matching her pace.

“There’s a place that has a wide selection of tea and great lattes. Do you like them flavoured? The lattes.” Why was she asking that? She didn’t care how he drank his coffee.

“I tried a hazelnut one but wasn’t my thing.”

“You should try a mocha. It’s like hot chocolate with espresso.” She said as they reached the café.

“I’m sold.” He held the door open for her and she didn’t argue with him, just walked in.

“What did you mean by aftercare?” she asked once they were settled in one of the tables near the window. Summer was coming to an end and September was rapidly approaching.

“You really don’t know?” she shook her head and could swear she saw him blush. “Well, I was trying to play off the dominating you jab from earlier, but I guess it didn’t land well.”

“What is it?” she asked, taking a sip and looking at him over the rim of her cup.

“You’re really going to make me explain?”

“Yes.”

“Aftercare usually comes after a more unorthodox sexual encounter, the two or more parties check in with each other, make sure no one’s physically or mentally hurt. That everyone has something to drink and eat. Just generally making sure everyone feels safe and calm.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and Hermione followed the movement with her eyes, before looking down at her vanilla and cherry green tea and the chocolate chip cookie. “I don’t… I mean this… Aftercare isn’t necessarily only reserved for sex. You asked me to make you do something you weren’t completely comfortable with, so I’m just checking in. Making sure you’re alright. It was a dumb joke.” Hermione broke her cookie in two and offered him half, feeling like she was in kindergarten, trying to make friends.

“Eat.” She said and pushed the cookie even further toward him when he didn’t take it. “You said all parties check in with each other. Have a cookie, I know you have a sweet tooth.”

“Thank you.” He said taking the cookie and nibbling on it. “Are you going back? To Hogwarts I mean. Have one final year with Potter and Weasley, this time without all the life-and-death adventures.”

“Yeah, hopefully, this year’s final exams won’t be cancelled.” She looked up at him with a smile, but he was staring at his mocha and the cookie as if he was seeing them for the first time. “Are you?”

“Yeah, court-mandated.” He muttered.

“Oh, right. I forgot.” He snorted and she kicked him under the table. “I did. I sometimes forget that part of our lives.”

“Sounds good to be able to do that.”

“It only hurts more when I remember. I’m scared to go back. I don’t know what condition we’ll find the castle in. That I’ll just see the rubble and blood, even if there isn’t any.”

“So am I. I had to move out of the manor – I couldn’t walk around the corner without thinking he’d be there, and the wind through the shotty isolation on the windows sounds too much like screams.”

“Will you miss the Slytherin common room? Now that those of us returning will not be in our houses.”

“I’ll miss the calm. The silence. And that one portrait of an especially beautiful Slytherin witch.”

“Men are disgusting.” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Hey, don’t judge. That woman was something else. I think she was the face of sexual awakening for half the Slytherins.” He chuckled and Hermione smiled back. Conversation with him was easy and flowed from topic to topic and before she knew it, they were walking back to her place.

“Do you want to come in?” His eyes widened and he took a step back. “Not like that, just to… hang?”

“I… My therapist–”

“Advises against relationships.” Finished Hermione nodding and unlocking the door. “I’m offering tea and cherry strudel, not marriage.” He seemed to think about it for a while and Hermione was about to tell him it was alright if he didn’t want to, despite feeling a bitter tang at the prospect of rejection but he nodded.

“Cherry strudel sounds good.” He smiled at her again and this time she was sure something inside her melted. She let him inside the building and her apartment, and with a flick of her wrist put the kettle to boil.

They talked about Hermione’s book collection and his family’s library over what was left of Ginny’s ever-improving attempts at making dessert.

“I can’t believe you have the nerve to say that! I have a few measly shelves and I have to sell or donate old books to make space for new ones. You can’t possibly say that’s better than a _library_ in your house!”

“When the books are so old, that the stagnant magic in them makes them sentient, it becomes a terrible burden. A least you get to read whatever you want. My reading lists were strictly curated and monitored for ‘improper’ content.”

They also discussed Hermione’s choice to decline the Head Girl position.

“I’d have thought it was your greatest dream.”

“It was, a few years ago. I would have seriously maimed someone, if not killed, for that position. But now… I have a problem with control. As in I cling to it desperately and it sometimes leads to complete mental unravelling. I’m not in a position to be Head Girl.”

“So you decided the best solution is to have someone boss you around?” he asked, gesturing to himself.

“Not exactly. My therapist said I should let people I trust take control now and again.” She mumbled stabbing at the last bite of strudel.

“That’s 180 on their previous treatment – the one where you control your environment completely.”

“Well, The Doctor is just a human with a fancy office. She’s trying her best.” Shrugged Hermione.

“You call your therapist The Doctor?”

“Yeah, like Doctor Who?”

“Like… I’m lost.”

“That’s right you wouldn’t have watched it. It’s a muggle TV show, a bit old, but it has its moments. It started as this low-budget sci-fi thing in the early 60s but gradually became bigger and bigger.” She explained, suddenly excited at the opportunity to educate.

“And it’s about a doctor?”

“A time lord.” She corrected.

“Now you’re just taking the piss.”

“I don’t think I can explain this.” Hermione got up and started rummaging in a plastic container next to the VHS machine. “Aha!” she exclaimed coming up with a smaller box. “This box contains pirated copies of the first episodes. They don’t have originals, or we would have bought them.” Hermione popped the first cassette and watched Draco jump at the sudden noise the TV made. “Now, when the first moving pictures were shown they were of a train coming towards the screen. Now, I need you to understand that nothing will come out of the TV, no matter how real it looks.” He rolled his eyes at her and lifted two fingers in a rude gesture.

“Unless it’s the ghost from _The Ring_.” Hermione shot him a shocked look and he smirked. “I’m not entirely uncultured. I watched the film in the Japanese embassy when it was coming out.”

“Have you read the books?”

“There are books?”

“You might be the first person in the UK to have watched the movies, but you didn’t know there are books?” He shrugged and turned his attention to the TV.

“So this doctor? Is he like a doctor or does he just go to university for something useless?”

“He’s an alien. And he’s not really a doctor.”

“Okay, this is getting harder and harder to follow.”

“Just watch a little.” And to her surprise he did. They got through two and a half episodes with only mild irritation and just a few innocuous remarks on how that would be easier with magic, or this is not how this is supposed to work. “Have you had pizza?” she asked him when her stomach protested, and she could barely handle his complaints.

“Granger, are you under the impression that _pizza_ is some sort of muggle invention beyond my scope?” There was a slight mock in his voice and Hemione fought the urge to get defensive.

“I don’t know what is beyond your scope. As far as I know, it’s very small.” She brought her index finger and thumb close together and looked at him through the gap to see him narrow his eyes.

“There are so many jabs I want to take at you now, but you won’t get any of them so what’s the point?” he smirked – he had successfully led her to think he was not going to return the insult, and then successfully delivering a jab at her.

“Well played, Malfoy. Well played.” She got up and opened the freezer taking two frozen pieces of pizza dough. “So Pizza? You can make it yourself.” He turned to look at her a little confused before focusing on the dough and his brows furrowed. “Little rich boy never had to make his own pizza, did he?” she taunted him, and he cocked his head to the side considering something Hermione couldn’t grasp. For a second she thought she had touched a nerve, but he stood and deftly jumped over the back of the couch.

“No, but I never back down from a challenge.” He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and turned the sink to wash his hands. “Walk me through it.”

“Well, first we have to defrost the dough.” She summoned her wand and magically thawed the dough.

“I believe that’s called cheating.”

“It’s called magic, also I don’t expect you to learn how to cook the muggle way. I can barely make edible pasta sauce the muggle way. I don’t have the patience for all the slicing and dicing and the waiting.”

“Not to mention how easy it is to burn something. Total lack of control.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Don’t give me that look. It’s obvious you struggle with some deeply rooted control issues.”

“How is it obvious?”

“Because I have the same problem. I can catch you sometimes holding your breath and that day in the alley? You were fighting so hard to control something you actually had a breakthrough, even if you didn’t know it.”

“And what breakthrough was that?”

“That the ultimate form of control is completely giving it up.” She gawked at him. “Think about it, control is one of the few things you grasp better when you relax your hold. The more desperate you are for it, the more elusive it becomes. Did you feel out of control tonight, at any point?”

“No.”

“And why is that?”

“I never felt like it was threatened.” He nodded solemnly. “Maybe you should replace my therapist. You seem to be having more breakthroughs with me in two meetings than she did in a month.”

“That’s still her work, I’m just a catalyst for the tipping point.”

“You seem to know a lot. How often do you go to therapy?”

“Every day.” She turned sharply to look at him. “Every morning at 10. Rain or shine, in sickness and in health. And when I go to Hogwarts, I’d have to leave reports with McGonagall every night before curfew.”

“That sounds like a lot. I think I might explode if I have to spend so much time in introspection.” He just shrugged. “There’s something more, isn’t there?” he didn’t answer, just looked at the dough.

“It seems to be ready.” Hermione looked over and saw that it was completely thawed and ready. She nodded and washed her own hands.

“There is sauce in the cupboard under the oven.” She directed. “Turn the left knob on the oven two times clockwise.” She watched him carefully twist the knob as she dried her hands and opened the fridge taking out all sorts of ingredients.

“Now what?”

“Now we stretch the dough. We’ll have to make the pizzas oblong to fit in the oven simultaneously.” She grabbed one of the balls and started kneading and stretching.

“There isn’t a spell for that?”

“This is a bit that you’d have to be especially talented to fuck up. Just make sure it’s warm and stretch it on the sheet. You can leave more dough on the sides.” He carefully followed her instructions, stretching the dough. She then scooped up some sauce and after spreading it they started piling on the cheese and other fixtures, before sliding the pan into the oven.

“Now we wait?” he asked, wiping his hands in a towel she handed him.

“A little. I like to add the finishing touched with magic – to get the cheese extra melted and stretchy. But it can be doe the muggle way if you have the patience.” She sat back down on the couch and he joined her. Hermione was about to resume the episode when he interrupted her.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I can’t watch any more of this. It’s old and boring.” She sighed dramatically.

“Alright, I guess I can forgive that transgression.” She stood up to pop the VHS out and return it to its box, slapping a note on it to remember to rewind it later. “Can I ask you something you avoided answering earlier?” She sat cross-legged on the floor next to the still buzzing TV.

“You can ask. I might not answer.”

“What else is there, aside from the control issues?” he remained quiet and Hermione stared at her hands in her lap, afraid to meet his eyes. “I have anger issues. It just comes over me in waves and I can’t… I get blindsided by it.” She looked up expecting pity, but there was a wide curiosity in his eyes.

“I have the opposite problem. I can’t seem to summon strong emotions.” He shrugged. “My therapist thinks it’s a result of trauma from the war and that years of emotional neglect have scared me. That day you ran from the meeting jolted something and I felt your fear and just had to follow you.”

“So you don’t feel anything?”

“I feel things. Minor emotions. I get irritated at my therapist when he starts answering my question with a question, but it’s more like I do it out of habit. When I told my therapist that I felt your fear he suggested I see who I am without the conflicting strong emotions around people from my past.”

“Well, you’re quite pleasant to be around.” Said Hermione quietly. “I know what it is to… struggle with the past.”

“What is the source of your control issues? Since we’re on the topic of therapy.”

“I erased my parents’ memories my summer before 7th year. After the final battle, I went to Australia to reverse them and… I must have botched the spell. Healers said the memories I had suppressed are disappearing. Now, even if they do get better, there is a chance they will have forgotten something important. And their memories would just continue to fade.” She could feel anger and a deprecating sadness battle inside her and shut her eyes, feeling a headache coming on.

“Granger?” Malfoy had walked to her and rested a hand on her shoulder, but she twitched, pulling away. “It’s alright to be sad and scared. Or so says my therapist. My father would be rolling in his grave, were he dead.” Despite herself she chuckled, a manic sound she was almost embarrassed by. But she couldn’t bring herself to stand, or to shake the growing hole in her chest. Thoughts whirled in her head, leaving only incoherent words behind. _Failure. Unlovable. Undeserving. Should have died._

“I can’t…” she whispered to herself. She wrapped her arms around herself, anger rising at the thought that she was falling apart in front of Malfoy.

“Stand up, Granger.” He said in that commanding tone he used today. “Stand up and help me with the pizza, before it burns to a crisp.”

“I can’t.”

“I’m not asking you if you can. I’m telling you to stand up and come to the kitchen.” She opened her eyes to see the tips of his shoes, black high-top Converse with black soles. She took a shaky breath and let go. She let go of the panic and unfurled her arms. She focused on the commands he was giving and let everything fall away. _Get up_. _Come to the kitchen_. She clumsily stood up, grabbing hold of the arm he extended to steady her. “Good. You’re doing very good.” He helped her to the kitchen as she observed her own house through a perspective she never had before. She felt detached, almost as if she was dissociating, except she didn’t feel the confusion that came with it. In fact, she felt like she was lighter than she ever had been.

“It’s hot.” She said when Malfoy opened the oven.

“And I’m a wizard. What good would I be if I can’t take a baking sheet out of the oven?” He pulled her to stand in front of the oven. “Focus on the warmth for a second. Feel it melt through your skin and muscle. Imagine it settling in the centre of your bones. It’s driving away the cold dread and all the fear.” She didn’t try to stop her hum of content. She was too close to the hot air of the oven and could feel it slightly painful on her skin, but she liked it. It was like the scalding showers she took that leave her skin an angry shade of red. But now she could feel Malfoy’s steady hand in hers, their only point of contact and she wanted more. She leaned back into him and his breath hitched.

“It smells good. The cheese is melting.” She said quietly. When he spoke, she could feel his voice vibrate through her back.

“Do you like it completely smelted?” she hummed in agreement and suddenly the warmth of the oven was gone. She whined at the loss. “Shh,” he said, turning her around so Hermione was facing him and tucked her head under his chin, letting her lean into him. “A few more minutes. For the cheese.”

“For the cheese.” She repeated and imagined a hot piece of cheesy pizza. “I’m hungry.” She said quietly, feeling the warmth of his chest through his shirt, and the weight of his hand in hers. His other arm was hanging loosely at his side and Hermione tucked herself partially under it until he rested it on her shoulder and across her back. It wasn’t a hug, but she could feel him there and it comforted her.

“Come back then.” He muttered and for a moment she was confused. She hadn’t gone anywhere. She was right here, with him. his hand squeezed hers. “Are you alright?”

“I’m light.”

“Good, that’s good,” he said gently, “but I want you to start coming back, alright Granger?”

“I’m here.” He chuckled and rubbed her shoulder.

“Bodily, yes. Hold on to the feeling of weightlessness but start coming back from it.” Weightlessness was exactly the word she would use to describe how she felt. But how did he know that? Hermione realised his voice no longer held that command it did before. It now sounded worried and almost tired. She felt dizzy for a second, but it passed, and she pulled back just enough to look at Malfoy. “There we go. Welcome back.”

“I never went anywhere.” She could hear her own voice becoming more authoritative, unlike the gentle tone she had spoken with before.

“I’ll send you a list of reference books you can look up.” He chuckled releasing her and stepping back. “Can you get the plates while I get the pizza?”

The weeks leading up to 1st September were spent in a furrow of appointments with friends and healers, still going to group therapy and having tea and dinner with Malfoy afterwards. They had also added a few other meetings during the days in between, sometimes for lunch after his therapy, sometimes for tea in the afternoon. She had been borderline horrified by what he had sent her as reference books, but The Doctor was adamant, that while she discouraged Hermione from entering into a co-dependent relationship before she could come to terms with her trauma, perhaps setting some rules between her and Malfoy could be beneficial. So the two of them set out a list of rules, and for the most part, they were pretty good at following them. Petty early on Hermione had requested an official rule about what he could ask of her when she gave him full control. He’d joked at first, saying he could always find a way around that, but as he was leaving that night, he turned serious and had asked if she had ever been worried that he’d take advantage of her. She was surprised when she realised the thought hadn’t crossed her mind until The Doctor had mentioned it. Even after struggling to find anything about dominant/submissive relationships that wasn’t revolving around sex, she never considered that Malfoy might use that to his advantage. Not with how careful he was about physical proximity – he always seemed just within reach, but never close enough for accidental contact.

“You never seem to touch me.” She said one night, as the two of them were making their way to her flat.

“I thought we had a rule about that.” He said with a smirk. “Get the list out and check.”

“Why do you think I carry it on me?”

“Don’t you?” Hermione blushed. She did. It was folded in her coat pocket.

“Besides the point. You’re deflecting.”

“I did say that in jest, but it does seem a bit too close to breaking the rules.” He said without meeting her eyes.

“Is that all there is?” he remained quiet, as he rounded the corner to her apartment building. “Malfoy?” He opened the door and held it for her. It was something he always did, but this time he looked conflicted and a voice in her head told her if she walked in, he wouldn’t follow her inside. Granted, it was the same voice that seemed to say horrible things to her that she did her best to ignore, but this time she listened, staying rooted in place.

“Are you going to stand here all night?” he asked lightly.

“If I was to, would you leave?” after another second of hesitation he met her eyes with quiet resignation.

“Just go in, Granger, it’s starting to rain.” She remained rooted in place and he sighed, walking in, still holding the door open. “Happy?” he asked sarcastically.

“Getting there,” she said walking in behind him and heading towards the elevator.

“That’s what I get for making nice with a bloody Gryffindor.” He muttered, just loud enough for her to hear, but not directed at her. “Couldn’t have found a Hufflepuff to befriend, no. It even had to be the know-it-all of our year.”

“Stop mumbling to yourself.” She said, before biting her lips to suppress a smile. He shot her a sour look, before pressing the button for her floor and clenching his fist as the elevator started moving. “Why does this elevator make you nervous? For weeks now you clench your fists so tight I’m scared one day you’ll draw blood.”

“It’s not this one specifically. All elevators make me nervous.” He turned to her but quickly looked away. “I don’t associate them with very pleasant memories. The last elevator I rode, I did so in chains.”

“Oh,” said Hermione quietly. It always seemed to escape her mind that he was arrested and tried along with his parents and his friends. “Can I do something?”

“Like what? Hold my hand like I’m five? No thanks, I’m a big boy.” He said sharply. She remained quiet but reached for his hand, trying to loosen his fist with both her hands. He twitched and for a second she thought he’d snatch his hand away, but he didn’t, just clenched his jaw.

“Lift your hand and place it next to the doors.” She said, guiding his hand to the wall of the elevator. “That way you’ll remind yourself you’re not chained anymore.” Hermione let go of his arm and stepped back, suddenly shy for almost acting on the childish desire to hold his hand when he mentioned it.

“That’s actually helpful.” He said clearing his throat. “Thank you.”

“It’s good to know I’m also useful. Symbiotic relationship and all that.” He chuckled and shook his head. The elevator doors opened, and he lowered his hand to allow her off first.

“Go on. You know the way.” She said, placing one hand over the frame to stop the doors from closing on them. He looked at her with furrowed brows, before exiting the elevator and heading straight for her door.

Before Hermione could fumble for her key, Malfoy had his wand out and had unlocked the door, opened it, and walked in like he owned the place. She stood rooted for a second, before walking to the door frame and watching him take his leather jacket off and hang it on a hook beside the door, before untying and toeing his Converse off.

“You’ve been acting strange all night. What’s wrong, Granger?” he asked beckoning her to enter her own apartment.

“Tomorrow’s the 1st.”

“Really, I thought it was the 32nd.” He said, his tone was the same one he had used to offend her when they were younger, but he was in his socks, in her apartment, and his hair was slightly damp from the rain, hanging in his eyes. Something under Hermione’s ribs contracted. Not exactly butterflies, but close. “Are you–”

“No,” she interrupted, taking her own jacket and shoes off. “I’m not having an episode, I don’t think. It’s stupid. I just had the feeling if I walked in first, you’d close the door behind me and leave.”

“So you shepherded me in your flat like you planned to kidnap me?” he asked mockingly, but Hermione crossed her arms.

“Were you?”

“I didn’t mean for you pick up on that.” He said, leaning on the wall across from her in the small entryway. “I was talking to Blaise earlier and he mentioned that perhaps this was not the most convenient time for… whatever this is.”

“And why not?”

“As you said, tomorrow’s the 1st. We go back to Hogwarts and it was all good to live in this bubble and ponder on how things might have been if Voldemort had never returned and how maybe we would have been friends one day. But that bubble is about to burst and I’ll… I might just drown.” He clenched his fists at his side and slumped his head forward. “I thought if I saw you home safe and just left, I could pine quietly for a few months and then… I don’t know. Move to France.” Hermione felt anger rise in her, and for the first time in a while, she would argue it was perfectly justified.

“You thought you could just leave? Like you are the only side that would have suffered?” she asked flicking her wand to cast a silencing charm on the door. “You thought I’d just quietly resign myself to go back to listening to Harry and Ron talk about Quidditch and homework like nothing happened?” He shrugged, looking down. “You thought I’d watch you go into your dissociation episodes and just walk out of the room? If you’d seen me unravel would you have just continued with the assigned reading like nothing happened?”

“I didn’t think that far.” He whispered.

“Of course you didn’t. Because you had one conversation with Zabini and he managed to convince you that this is somehow wrong.” She gestured between them.

“Isn’t it?” he looked up. “What happens when Weasley decides he’s had enough of my pointy face and pummels me to the ground? Or when someone decided the Death Eater is only good enough for target practice?”

“That won’t happen.”

“It will. It will happen, and I can’t say it will be unfounded. I’d have deserved that.”

“This is what this is about.” Hermione’s anger diminished. “You don’t think you deserve to feel good.”

“I–”

“You think this is some kind of cruel payback. That once you get comfortable, once you feel content, the rug will be pulled out from under you again.” She made the one decisive step that separated them and wrapped her arms around his middle, face in his shoulder. “I’m sorry you were made to feel like you don’t deserve friends that love you. But you do.”

“I don’t know how to have friends.” He whispered in her hair and she could feel his arms tense, still hanging down.

“You can start by hugging me back because this is becoming awkward.” She said and felt him exhale forcibly, before wrapping his arms around her shoulders. “Then you can tell Blaise Zabini that if he has any concerns about my intentions, he can come to voice them with me.”

“Your intentions?” he chuckled, and his fingers twitched as he hugged Hermione tighter. “And what might those be?” she said suggestively, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Good to know you’re back to normal.” She said and extracted herself from him. “Tea? Then we can make a plan for what to do at Hogwarts.”

“It’s always the plans with you.” She headed for the kitchen and put the kettle on. “Maybe we should start with not climbing in my lap when I dissociate. I think that might be a little hard to explain to Weasley and Potter.” She blushed and busied herself with making tea.

“That was one time.” She said defensively and listened to him laugh. “And you enjoyed it plenty.”

“I never said I didn’t enjoy it.” She turned around with two mugs to see him sitting on the island counter. “I just said it would be difficult to explain.” She handed him a cup and had to crane her head even further than normal to look at him.

“Don’t you think you’re tall enough without climbing on my furniture?” He shrugged and watched her carefully as she hoisted herself up.

“You seem to enjoy it, decided to see what the hype was about.”

“The hype is that I get to feel tall. You’re already tall.”

“Exceptionally so.” She made a dismissive wound and chuckled at his faux-hurt expression.

“You’re only slightly taller than Harry, not to mention you’re shorter than Ron.”

“Maybe, but I’m twice the man he is.” She snorted and he shot her a sharp glare. “You’ll see one day.”

“What about rule 3? It was your idea.” She said in her cup as she took a sip.

“You’ve already considered revisiting rule 3. Don’t pretend you haven’t.”

“Awfully presumptuous of you. What makes you think I’d consider that when you can’t even get along with my friends?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone that you have a crush on me.” _Damn him_.

“A crush is a very strong word.” He smirked at her. _Double damn him._

“Hm,” he took a sip of tea, his gaze soft over the rim of his cup. “Don’t worry we’ll talk again.”

“Your mood swings are giving me whiplash.” She shook her head, dismissing the thought of how easy it would be to just lean in and kiss him. “Just minutes ago, you were considering _leaving_ because you were unworthy. Now you’re trying to coerce me into your bed.”

“I’m trying to coerce you into letting me in yours. Mine is entirely too far away.” He said, and Hermione’s breath hitched. He just gracefully slid off her counter and headed for the couch. “What’s tonight’s film?” he asked making himself comfortable.

“We still have one _Star Wars_ left.” Her voice was entirely too high pitched.

“Malfoy?” asked Hermione halfway through the film. She was curled on one side of the couch, while he sat on the other side, left ankle over right knee, head propped on his fist.

“Granger?” he responded, glancing at her.

“How am I supposed to go back? After everything that I’ve been through, how can I go back to homework and classes?”

“One day at a time.” He said, eyes still on the film. “Think of the library. Just the past month you’ve spoken about that library more than about those terrible muggle fiction books you want me to read.”

“ _Lord of the Rings_ is a classic and you do not get to besmirch it like that when you haven’t even read it!” she exclaimed. “I’ll have you know those books were part of the reason I believed in magic.”

“What else helped you believe?” he asked sarcastically.

“ _Matilda_ – it’s another muggle book about a girl who likes to read and one day discovers she can move objects with her mind. I nearly lost my mind when one night I made a book fly off the shelf and into my hand!” Hermione looked at Malfoy to see him, smiling warmly, still looking at the TV. “I haven’t read it in so long. They made a film as well; I think my mum got me a VHS of it last year.”

“Sounds like it’s a double feature tonight.” He said and looked pointedly at the empty popcorn bowl. “We’ll need more sustenance.”

“I don’t feel like cooking. I’ll just order us something.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in the exploitation of house-elves.”

“I’m about to blow your mind.” His eyes flitted to hers and he lifted a brow. Hermione flushed and looked away, scrambling for the phone receiver. “Stop that.” She told him, dialling the number of the pizza place closest to her apartment. She ordered two pizzas with the same toppings they had used to make their pizzas the first time he had come to her place.

“And now?”

“Now someone will make the pizzas, put them in boxes, and deliver them to my door. All I have to do is pay and we’re ready to eat.”

“This sounds pretty good.” He said, settling further into the couch.

“Will I see you tomorrow at the station?”

“No. I have a session with my therapist earlier in the morning, then I have to check in at the ministry – they’ll check my wand and my mind, before delivering me straight to McGonagall. I might not see you until breakfast the next morning. Or at least after the feast, in the common room.”

“Will you be alone the whole time?”

“Blaise and a few other Slytherins have to go through the same procedure. You’ll be alright for a day, don’t worry.”

“I’m worried about you as well.”

“Don’t worry about me. If anything happens, Blaise will crawl into my lap.”

“One time!” Exclaimed through laughter Hermione.

“I do have a favour to ask you. If that’s okay.”

“Of course.”

“It’s about Pansy. She will arrive later – she was granted some extra time before her father’s sentence is carried out.” He looked at his hands and twisted his Slytherin ring nervously. Hermione tucked her hands close to her stomach to stop herself from reaching out for him. “Just make sure none of the girls gives her too much crap. She’s not the most agreeable person, but she’s still my friend.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll look out for her.”

“Thank you.” He suddenly leaned in and placed a kiss on Hermione’s cheek.

Hermione thought of little else but that kiss for the rest of the night and barely focused enough during her therapy session in the morning. But as she left her therapist’s office and headed to King’s Cross, she felt lost. Hermione had managed to compartmentalise going back to school and separate it from her life so well, she had almost convinced herself it wasn’t happening. Even last night, arguing with Draco and discussing things in the safety of her living room, it all felt so abstract. But here she was, standing at the platform, looking for Harry and Ron. She found them with Ginny and Neville standing a little off to the side, away from the main hustle. Harry saw her first and waved her over.

“Hermione!” they hugged, and as Harry kissed her cheek, Hermione remembered Malfoy’s kiss, comparing her reactions to the two. She half-listened to them excitedly share stories and it helped soothe her anxiety. They would get through this together, she wasn’t alone. On the train, she and Neville talked about their therapy experiences and compared grounding techniques. A subject that Harry and Ron were hoping to avoid discussing with her – she and Neville were the only ones going to therapy. Neville decided it might help him with his survivor’s guilt and the trauma around his parents’ condition. Hermione’s was mandated after she had a complete meltdown after failing the spell on her parents. The doors to the compartment opened and professor Slughorn stood at the door, looking less his usual cheery self than he had two years ago.

“Is there anything you need, Professor?” asked Neville.

“Oh, yes,” he said, smiling at them, “nothing serious, just checking on the students. Is everyone alright here?”

“Yeah,” said Ron looking around, “we’re all good.”

“Alright then, I’ll see you at dinner.” Slughorn nodded and closed the door of the carriage.

“Do you think this was about the Slug club? Did he chicken out?” asked Neville and Harry just shrugged.

“I don’t even know if I want to be in that club this year.” He said, absently running a finger over his scar. “I just want to focus on Quidditch. I heard Malfoy is back on the team and I’d like to rub his face in the dirt one last time.”

“I thought you and Malfoy had reached a truce?” asked Neville and Hermione’s head whirled around to look at Harry.

“Yeah, on everything but Quidditch. He’ll be eating my dust.”

“When did you do that?” Asked Hemione startled. Neither Harry nor Malfoy had mentioned anything. Even after she had commented on not getting along with her friends to Malfoy last night.

“Over the summer, after his trial. He sought me out, apologised and everything. To be honest I felt like I owed him, what with the bathroom incident.” Hermione narrowed her eyes at Harry and then looked at Ron.

“Don’t look at me, the git’s said nothing to me. I dread sharing a common room with him. Thankfully, he’ll be with his Slytherin friends and I’ll be with Harry and Neville here.”

Hermione feigned a few hours of sleep, drifting in and out, listening to the boys’ conversation when she could focus on them enough. When they sat at the Gryffindor table for dinner, she looked around for Malfoy. She didn’t see him anywhere and was quickly distracted by a cheerful Ginny, proudly strutting over to them, her Head Girl badge on display. They ate excitedly, but Hermione couldn’t manage more than a few bites. Her tie felt too coarse and tight, her robes were heavy and her shirt itchy. She was fidgety and while everyone pretended not to notice, their stares were lingering, and she felt anger rise in her.

“I’m going to go up, I feel a headache coming on.” She said standing up.

“Do you want us to come with you?” asked Harry, already standing up.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll probably just go to bed. You eat, have fun.” She rushed out, feeling her breath too shallow. As much as she loved them, the last thing she needed was her friends fussing over her like mother hens.

Hermione stumbled up to the portrait to the year 8 dorm and mumbled the password. The portrait swung open, even if she wasn’t sure she had said the password correctly or even loud enough. She climbed in and rushed through the empty common room to her dorm. She changed as quickly as possible into a loose set of soft pyjamas, before drawing the curtains around her bed shut and climbing in.

“Breathe, Hermione,” she repeated to herself. She fished out her CD player and put her headphones on, playing the song The Doctor had approved – breathing in rhythm to the music and focusing on mouthing the lyrics. She must have fallen asleep because when she woke up in cold sweat the CD had ended. She knew she was just having a nightmare, but it was all jumbled up in her head. _Dark corners, bright rooms, eyes staring at her, a knife, the smell of bleach, her wand falling out of her limp hand. Scrams, cries, pleas. Some her own, some belonging to someone else._ She ripped her headphones off, heaving in panic. The darkness was swallowing her, and she ripped through the curtains stumbling out of bed. Her mind was reeling again. _Failure. Unlovable. Undeserving. Should have died._

“Hermione?” Hermione whirled around to see Lavender and Padma, sitting on one bed, looking through a magazine. “Is everything alright?” Padma got up and started approaching, but Hermione was reacting on pure instinct when she recoiled from her and dashed out the door. It was in the common room where she fell to her hands and knees gasping for breath.

“Hermione?” it was Ron’s worried voice as he approached this time.

“No!” she croaked, “Don’t touch me.” Tears were falling down her cheeks and her hands were trembling. She felt a gaping hole in her chest, and she was grasping for control over anything, anything that could override the fear. She focussed on her hands gripping the soft carpet, trying to get them to relax or contract. Anything.

“You heard her.” Said Ron to someone, but Hermione couldn’t raise her head. She recoiled when she saw the tips of a pair of black converse enter her narrow field of vision until she recognised them.

“Stand up, Granger.” Malfoy’s voice carried that cold air of confidence he always had when she needed him.

“I can’t.” she gasped.

“Stand up,” he said again, and she saw another pair of shoes enter her field of vision. “We’ve talked about this. Ultimate control. Stand up!”

“Back off, Malfoy.” Someone said, but Hermione was already getting up. She sat on her heels and pushed herself up, using Malfoy’s outstretched hand for support.

“Good.” He said, sounding smugger than he had any right to be in public. “Now take five deep breaths.” She met his eyes, her lungs still shallowly contracting and expanding. “I’ll wait.” Hermione forced her lungs to expand and contract, she was on her third exhale when he said: “One.”

“That was three.” She said, hating how week she felt.

“The others weren’t deep enough.”

“That’s not fair.”

“If you mouth off, we’ll start again.” She almost scoffed. She had done some in-depth research on what the dominant/submissive relationships entailed, but unfortunately, almost everything she could find pertained to sex. Which she and Malfoy were not having. _Yet_ , said a quiet voice in her head. But she heard that phrase once when she was feeling particularly frustrated, both with the research and sexually. The phrase definitely sounded more threatening when it pertained to hits, rather than breaths. But that was not the point. The point was for her to willingly give up control. She took a deep breath and exhaled, relieved to hear him count to two. She didn’t know if she could make it to five breaths, already feeling dizzy. But she did. On her fifth exhale she felt calmer and steadier on her feet. “Good. Now tell me what happened.”

“A nightmare. And then the intrusive thought got to me.” She said, without a fight.

“And do you believe them?” The same words she usually heard from The Doctor sounded so much more concerned out of his mouth. _Pretty mouth_ , Hermione squeezed her eyes and focused on something other than her inappropriate thoughts.

“Rationally, no,” she said quietly.

“But emotionally?” she felt tears well in her eyes and she blinked to chase them away, staring at the ground. “Look at me.” She hesitated for a moment but lifted her eyes to him. “Tell me the things you believe, like they’re aimed at me.”

“No, I can’t.” she gasped.

“Why?”

“They’re not true.”

“So you believe them when they pertain to you, but not to a convicted war criminal.” She felt anger at the way he talked about himself. “How pathetic of you.”

“That’s enough, Malfoy.” Hermione saw Harry reach for her, and she instinctively dodged him, gripping Malfoy’s hand tighter. He gave her hand a tight squeeze to check in and she returned it. He pulled her to one of the mirrors on the nearby wall and stood behind her, still hand in hand.

“Look at me,” when their eyes met in the mirror he nodded, “Good, now direct those thoughts at me.” She could sense the room was silent, and that people were watching the two of them. “Eyes on me, they are inconsequential at the moment.” She nodded focusing on his grey eyes.

She had told him about that exercise when The Doctor had suggested it and she had also told him how ridiculous and dumb she thought it was. She’d tried it once and didn’t feel any different. He’d laughed and told her she’s too rational for those types of things, that she tries to rationalise every emotion she feels, and this is not that type of exercise. She had flipped him off. Now she understood what he’d meant – saying those things at a picture did nothing because she didn’t feel emotionally torn about the words she was saying. They were never aimed at anyone but herself no matter how many times she’d stared at Ron, or Harry, or her parents’ smiling faces. But now as she looked at him, she felt that catharsis The Doctor had explained as the final goal.

“I’m–” she began shakily.

“No.” his tone was harsh, “Directed at me.”

“You’re…” she couldn’t. She couldn’t look him in the eyes and say those things. But she was supposed to give up control. “You’re useless. Wasting your life doing inconsequential things. You are a failure, and everyone can see it. And the more you fail people will just love you less until all they have for you is contempt.” Tears were freely sliding down her cheeks as she gripped his hand tighter. “You are nothing, but a burden and you should have just died during the war. The world would have been better off with you dead.” She didn’t even know she thought that of herself until the words were out and her free hand flew to her mouth to strangle a sob.

“And do you believe what you just said to me?” Malfoy’s voice was even and seemingly unaffected.

“No,” she wailed, shaking her head, “No, I don’t.”

“And do you believe them about yourself?” she shook her head slower.

“No,” she whispered. Not really. She sagged, exhausted, a single sob coming from her before Malfoy had gathered her to him and turned her so she could hide her face in his shoulder.

“Good, you did so well.” He purred silently, so only she could hear him. His hands were loosely holding her to him, while hers gripped his robes with everything she had.

“Granger, are you okay?” He asked her, worry evident in his voice. He was giving her back control and she nodded.

“It’s just an episode. It’s past now.” She said extracting her hand from Malfoy’s embrace, the phantom feeling of his fingers still lingering on her arms.

“Sit. Drink some water.” Said Malfoy, pointing to an armchair. She moved to the chair and took the glass he conjured without complaints.

“Hermione, what happened?” Asked Harry, who was now kneeling with Ron at her side.

“I don’t know I just… something snapped at dinner. I was fine on the way here and just seeing the dining hall again I… I lost control.” She said weakly, rubbing her face.

“And what was that with Malfoy? He was acting like a right prat.” Hermione looked over to Malfoy who had backed up into the wall and seemed to be in a quiet argument with Blaise Zabini.

“He’s helped me before.” She said quietly. She felt tired and cold, so she wrapped her arms around herself and brought her knees to her chest. Harry and Ron’s insistent stares, combined with Lavender’s studying eyes, made her feel small and threatened and she hated it. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” asked Harry.

“Like I’m something that’s going to explode. I’m fine I just want people to stop tiptoeing around me!” she pulled herself into a tight ball in the armchair and buried her face in her knees.

“Granger, they’re just trying to help.” Said Zabini and anger rose in Hermione. What did he know of her situation? He was the one who almost convinced Malfoy to leave her.

“No!” she said looking up at him, to see Malfoy already chastising Zabini. Harry reached for her again and she recoiled as far back as she could into the armchair. “No, don’t touch me. Go away. Leave me alone.” Harry reached again.

“Hermione I just–”

“That’s enough, Potter.” Malfoy’s hand had shot out and had grabbed Harry. “You heard her.”

“You know what, Malfoy?” began Ron as he stood up, trying to use that one-inch height advantage he had on Malfoy, unsuccessfully if the smirk on Malfoy’s face was any indication. “I think you want me to finish the job of flattening your face.”

“It would be good for you to finally man up and finish something you started.” Before anyone can stop them, Ron had swung, but Malfoy had something else in mind. He rammed his head in Ron’s face before Ron had aimed properly. Ron’s swing missed its target and he stumbled back. “Come on, Weasley. Do you want the satisfaction of pummelling me to the ground? Have at it.” Malfoy stepped forward, between Hermione and everyone else, arms spread wide.

“I’ll fucking end you, with my own two hands. I didn’t need my wand in second year and I won’t need it now.” Ron had blood coming out of his nose and mouth as he stood up. Oddly enough, it wasn’t Ron’s threats or Harry’s desperate scramble to get between them. It wasn’t even Lavender’s screams, but Zabini’s pleading stare that got her moving. Zabini was asking her to take back control of the situation.

“Enough!” she yelled, ducking under Malfoy’s arm to get between him and Ron. Harry, had Ron in a tight embrace, slowly backing him up, but Malfoy was walking forwards, and Hermione placed both hands on his chest to halt him. “That’s enough from both of you!” she turned to Ron, who was red in the face, heaving, blood spilling down his chin. “What are you thinking? You’re not twelve anymore, you can do real damage.” Hermione pushed Malfoy back until he fell in the armchair she had just occupied. “Sit still.” She commanded and he looked at her with such fire in his eyes, she felt a not entirely unpleasant shiver run down her spine. She turned around to see Harry hauling Ron towards the bathrooms, shrieking Lavender right behind him.

“Won Won, are you alright?” Lavender was fussing over him as Harry was applying a damp cloth to his face. Hermione didn’t enter the bathroom but just stood at the doorway. “What did he do to you?”

“He decked me. One tough head, that one.” Said Ron, looking over at Hermione. At least he was neither mad at her, nor looking at her with pity. Instead, there was the same flame in his eyes she’d seen in Malfoy’s. “Are we really doing that bad at helping you?” he asked and both Harry and Lavender turned to look at her. She nodded. “And the git knows how to help?” She nodded again.

“He shouldn’t have hit you regardless.” She said, torn between taking a step closer and walking out.

“You’re damn right he shouldn’t have!” screeched Lavender and Hermione stepped out of the bathroom, wordlessly letting the door shut itself. She turned to see Malfoy and Zabini chuckling.

“What do you think you are doing?” she said sternly and the two looked at her, Zabini excusing himself, leaving her alone with Malfoy, who sat leisurely, covered in his and Ron’s blood, holding a handkerchief under his nose, already soaked through and dripping down his hand and into his sleeve. She summoned her wand and a towel. With a whispered _Aguamenti_ , soaked it thoroughly.

“I’m helping myself and helping you at the same time.” She huffed an annoyed breath and sat on the arm of the chair, dabbing the wet cloth to his face to clean the blood. “It did help you, didn’t it?”

“And how did that help you?” she said sweeping the towel under his nose and watching as he winced. “Sorry,” she whispered and settled on fixing his broken nose with an _Episkey_. “So how did this help you, again?”

“Well,” he said rubbing his nose gingerly, “I’d normally say something along the lines of, you’re here taking care of me, so I won,” he grabbed the towel from her hand scrubbed his face violently, making her wince. “But honestly, I just felt alive for the first time in a long time. And I bet Weasley felt the same way.”

“Was that it? You’re just going to go around getting yourself beat up just to feel something? Have me call you insignificant and a waste of space, and then just go on a punching spree?” She snatched the towel back from him, twisting his head to clean a spot he’d missed.

“If I get to see this fire in you, I’d take as many hits as I have to.” Her fingers on his jaw felt numb.

“Be serious.” She said, trying to avoid his gaze.

“I am.” He turned his head, and her hand cupped his jaw, instead of falling away. She was about to scoff when she saw how serious he was.

“You can’t! It’s a violation of your parole.” She drew back, suddenly reminded of who they were and the rules they’d set.

“Well, in that case, this should be goodbye.” She struck him across the face with just enough force to wipe the smirk off his face.

“Don’t you dare!” She gritted through her teeth.

“So, you do like me?” he said with a suggestive lift to his eyebrows.

“Of course, I like you. I wouldn’t be hanging out with you after group therapy if I didn’t like you.” She slapped the towel on his face. “I wouldn’t be willingly submitting to you when I’m at my most vulnerable if I didn’t like you.”

“You can trust me without liking me.”

“No, I can’t. I do like you and, while telling you all those things helped me see that it was ridiculous to believe them about myself, it hurts to think you may have believed me when I said them.”

“I didn’t. And it’s nothing I haven’t thought about myself anyhow. The same goat, remember?”

“Boat. Same boat, not goat.” She corrected him with an exasperated sigh. “And never believe those things about yourself. You are more than your past. You are not a burden and I’m glad you didn’t die, alright?” He didn’t respond, just stared at her, until she was done cleaning him up. “Apologise to Ron tomorrow.”

“What will I get in return?” She stood up. “Afterall, this will be an activity I would not exactly enjoy.”

“I’ll buy you tea and get you half a cookie.” She said without turning around, and he smiled to himself.

She quickly abandoned trying to sleep, especially with Lavender’s intermittent sighing and wailing, expertly directed at Hermione. She wished Lavender would just go sleep in Ron’s bed, instead of hiccupping and muttering under her breath just as she thought Hermione was falling asleep. So Hermione got up, grabbed her blanket and book, and waddled to the common room, where she almost convinced herself she was dreaming. Malfoy was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, playing wizard’s chess against Ron, who was too engulfed in his game to notice her. Malfoy, however, wasn’t. He waved her over and Ron lifted his head as she approached.

“Should I be concerned?” she asked looking around. They were alone. No witnesses until now.

“We’re straightening things out.” Said Ron, going back to his game.

“Over chess?”

“Better than a boxing match that will have no real winners.” Malfoy patted the couch on his right. “You’re welcome to stay and watch me beat Weasley in chess.”

“Dream on, Malfoy.” Mumbled Ron.

“You’ve been planning your move for 10 minutes.” Ron glared at him but ultimately moved a piece. Less than a minute later Malfoy had moved his own, taking a pawn.

“How do you do that!?” Exclaimed Ron. Hermione curled up on the couch to watch them, her book still held tightly in her hands, like she could use it as a shield or a weapon.

“Remember the first three moves I made? They were to gauge your style of play. Everything after that has just been guiding you to where I want you.” Malfoy let his head loll back and bump into Hermione’s knees, before straightening. “I can beat you in 3, 5, or 11 moves but you do have a chance.”

“What are you playing for?” asked Hermione as Ron studied the board.

“I’d take it ‘your hand in marriage’ would be a frowned upon response?” she glared at him and he chuckled. “We’re not playing _for_ anything. Sometimes, the best ways to understand someone is to observe them, don’t you think?”

“Your turn, Casablanca.”

“Casanova.” Corrected Hermione before shaking her head and blushing under Malfoy’s curious gaze. “That’s the correct reference.” He snickered and looked at the board.

“Congratulations Weasley, you breached my defence.” He said and Hermione met Ron’s satisfied eyes and a smug smile. Malfoy played his turn and Ron focused on the board again. Malfoy, now in real danger of losing, began paying more attention to the board, and Hermione opened her book simultaneously bored and appalled with the game.

Hermione woke up in the morning on the couch, _Matilda_ on the table, bookmarked with a receipt from the café she and Malfoy went to after group therapy. The receipt was for cherry and vanilla green tea, a mocha with extra shot espresso, and a chocolate chip cookie. It was faded and wrinkled like it had been carried in a pocket for a little too long, or maybe handled more that the paper was intended for. Hermione got dressed as quietly as possible and headed down for an early breakfast. She was greeted by the usual bustle she remembered from before – kids were running all around, yelling at various decibels, as if nothing had changed. She made her way to Ginny, who was slumping over a cup of coffee. She lifted her eyes to Hermione and sighed.

“Why did I agree to be the Head Girl? I had to get up at half-past 5 today, to make sure the Prefects schedule was correct and posted.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem getting up even earlier to play Quidditch.”

“Yeah, but that’s Quidditch. This is a boring school duty.” Harry sat next to Ginny and kissed her soundly. She smiled at him before something caught her eye and she groaned. “Harry, please do something, I can’t deal with this now.” Hermione turned around to see Ron and Draco staring at each other in the middle of the room. Everyone had fallen silent, watching in disbelief. Hermione watched as Draco extended one hand and Ron shook it twice before a bellowing laugh overtook him and he pulled Draco towards them at the table. Ron sat on Hermione’s right and Draco on her left.

“I expect my cookie.” He said, not even trying to be subtle, and Hermione reached in her bag and got out a chocolate chip cookie. She’d taken it from her personal stash of treats she brought over. He opened the wrapper and broke the cookie in two, handing her half.

“Have it all. I enjoyed this more than I expected.” But he persisted, pushing the cookie in her hand.

“All sides, Granger. We’ll talk about what this reversal in positions will mean later.” He poured himself a cup of tea.

“What is the meaning of this?” asked Ginny, sounding very suspicious.

“Truce.” Said Draco, before starting to nibble on his half of the cookie.

“We had a bit of an argument, worked it out, now we’re good.” Said Ron, before stuffing a piece of toast in his mouth.

“Are your broken-the-repaired noses the result of working it out?” asked Ginny, noting the similar bruises forming on the two boys’ faces.

“Yes,” said Ron with a full mouth, “But turns out we have more in common than we thought.”

“Thankfully, not table manners.” Muttered Draco, breaking a piece of cookie and popping it in his mouth.

“Don’t be rude,” said Hermione gently.

“That will require more forms of aftercare.” He said turning to her, pushing a cup of tea in front of her.

“We’ll discuss that later.”

“No, I have ideas now. We revisit rule 3.”

“Rule 3 is not something you can bribe or force me to revisit.”

“No, it’s not something I can force you to cross out. I force you to revisit it every day.” Hermione bit off a piece of her muffin and chewed carefully, observing the muffin, like it is a piece of art. “Come on, get the list out. I know you always have it on you.”

“You seem unfairly confident in yourself, Malfoy.”

“When have you known me to be anything but, Granger?” she chuckled and nodded.

“I feel unfairly out of the loop.” Said Ginny and Malfoy winked at her theatrically.

“I aim to be dramatic and mysterious in everything I do.”

“Mission successful.” Said Ginny through laughter. “So, I shouldn’t be expecting stay curses from either of you?”

“Not in public anyhow.” Said Ron.

“Bold of you to assume I’d willingly spend time with you in private.” Retorted Draco.

“Bold of you to assume I’ll care if you’re willing.” Said Ron with what he thought was a sly smile and Draco snickered.

“Weasley, I didn’t think you were into these types of fantasies, but alright. To each their own.” Said Draco and Hermione turned to see Ron’s smile fade as he caught on to the blonde’s meaning. “I do have a safe word, just so you know.”

“You do?” asked Ron, face white now, and eyes wide as they landed on Hermione. She laughed, maybe the first full belly laugh he’d had in a while.

“Don’t look so scared, Ron.” She said when she calmed down. “He doesn’t bite.”

“Not unless provoked. Or asked politely.” Ron choked on his tea and Draco chuckled. He knocked his knee with hers and she tapped her foot on top of his, giving him a small smile of encouragement.


End file.
